


hilt

by luckee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin's oral fixation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, Coming Untouched, Crack Treated Seriously, Dildos, Finger Sucking, First Time, Lightsabers, M/M, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Masturbation, No Underage Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Situational Humiliation, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, Touch-Starved Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckee/pseuds/luckee
Summary: Anakin can’t have Obi-Wan’s cock to help him explore his sexuality. So he borrows his lightsaber.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 41
Kudos: 576





	hilt

**Author's Note:**

> This is ultimately just 5k of saber (and cock) worship.

He’d been sixteen the first time he tried to bury Obi-Wan’s lightsaber inside himself.

It was a rare occasion that Obi-Wan didn’t have his saber strapped to his hip. That’s where it belonged, for a Jedi, as much a part of their uniform as their clothes.

“I’m making a run down to the library.”

“Sounds good,” Anakin called from the kitchen where he was tossing the core of his apple.

“Is there anything I can get you while I’m out?”

Anakin thought about it. “I’m running low on bacta gel.”

His master tugged gently on his braid as he passed him on his way out the door, the sleeve of his tunic brushing against his shoulder in the process. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Anakin thanked the Force that Obi-Wan had left and couldn’t see the blush that flared up on his face.

On his way to his room, he froze at the sight of a familiar saber on the caf table.

As soon as he picked it up, he realized he’d never once held it before. A Jedi’s lightsaber was sacred, not something easily handed over to others.

Anakin brought it back into his room with him.

Adrenaline lit up his nerves with the forbidden nature of having and holding Obi-Wan’s saber in his hands, the knowledge that he could be caught at any moment.

His fascination with the thing wasn’t hard to understand.

He’d been hung up on his master for years. He didn’t remember exactly when it started, when he realized the true extent of his admiration for his mentor and closest friend, the person he trusted most in the world, but it had gradually become all-consuming. No one else had ever caught his interest.

No, he knew exactly who he wanted.

But he also knew Obi-Wan would never do anything with him. Would never touch him. Obi-Wan was too good of a Jedi. Too good of a person.

But this saber was, technically, a part of his master. The Jedi viewed their lightsaber as an extension of themselves, a concentration of their signature in the Force. 

So, in a way, he had Obi-Wan in his hand right now. 

He hefted it, tilted it back and forth, testing its weight compared to his own saber. It felt… strange, unfamiliar ridges pressing into the flesh of his palm. The hand grip was thicker than what he was used to.

He leaned further back into the pillows, legs splayed out on the bed, staring at the saber in his hand.

This was the saber Obi-Wan always had strapped to his belt, close to his body.

This was the saber his master held during all of their sparring practices, gripped tight in his hand as he effortlessly glided through katas.

Curiosity won over. Anakin brought the saber to his mouth and darted his tongue out to touch the durasteel. It was faintly salty, as he suspected his own hand grip was, with traces of sweat. He licked up the length, seeking out more of the taste. This was _Obi-Wan’s_ sweat.

The need to have it inside him burned hot and bright in his chest. 

He opened his mouth for the head of the saber, just wrapping his lips around the tapered tip, pressing his tongue to the hollow where the plasma emerged.

He removed it from his mouth just as quickly.

What in Sith’s hells was he doing? One slip of the hand and he would be dead.

He should really put the saber back.

Instead, he dug around in his toolbox for a screwdriver.

He wriggled it back and forth under the plate until it popped out. He pulled out the power cell, effectively rendering the saber useless. Right away, he mourned the loss of the low-level heat that a lightsaber normally emitted. The durasteel cooled in his palm, the vibrations from the cell’s energy fizzling out until it was nothing but metal and an inactive crystal. 

Except the saber still thrummed in the Force, a tangible presence, humming at the same frequency as his master. 

Without the risk of plasma accidentally burning a hole in his head, he put the saber back in his mouth. The durasteel was hard and unyielding, awkward in the way he had to suspend his teeth around it to avoid bumping them on the protruding ridges. 

Still, there was something so... _pleasant_ about having a part of his master in his mouth. It was comforting to have something press down against his tongue every time he swallowed. It turned a switch in his brain, allowing him to just focus on breathing steadily through his nose, keeping his throat relaxed so his gag reflex didn’t kick in. 

Yes, he’d decided that he very much enjoyed having Obi-Wan’s saber in his mouth.

He pushed in further until the wide crown of the saber brushed against the narrowest part of his mouth, just behind his teeth. He knew it _could_ go further, so he kept pushing in, wanting to take as much of it as possible into his mouth.

The sharp edges were starting to tear into the soft tissue of his throat. He gagged a few times and that only made the discomfort worse. Tears were starting to burn in his eyes and he had to pull the saber out to catch his breath.

Obi-Wan’s cock would be better for this.

He’d never seen it, but he fantasized about it often, about catching a faint outline through the cloth of his pants, about seeing it hang between his thighs, seeing it flushed red and curved up in arousal. 

His imaginations had gotten him hard at the most inopportune times, typically when his master was guiding him through meditation, or katas, or walking with him through the markets, a steady hand on his back so they didn’t get separated in the crowds.

He was struck with the need to take Obi-Wan’s saber deeper into his body. He leaned over to his nightstand and snagged the small jar of bacta that he used for slicking his cock. It was almost empty, but he scraped up what little he had left with two fingers.

He’d only done this a few times before, fingered himself open like this. He got impatient with it quickly, knowing Obi-Wan could return at any moment, so after a minute or two he replaced his fingers with the tip of the saber.

The tapered head entered him without much difficulty, but the sharp ridges of the saber’s crown caught on his rim. 

If he just got the crown past the rim, he figured, he could easily take the rest of it...

_“Fuck!”_

The crown breached past his rim and his nerves lit up with blinding pain. It felt like he’d been split open, the inch or so he’d shoved the crown inside himself all dry friction and metal tearing into flesh.

Force, he’d fucked up. And now he had to pull it back _out._

“Ah ah— _ah!”_

By the time he’d removed it he had hot tears streaming down his face. 

The tip of the saber was smeared with red.

He prodded his irritated rim and pulled his hand back to find streaks of blood on his fingers. Force, he was going to get blood on his sheets, and how was he going to explain that? 

It hurt too much to try getting up and looking around for tissues and more bacta. 

He curled up into a ball, pleading with the Force to just end his misery.

Minutes—maybe hours—later he tensed at the sound of their apartment door _whooshing_ open. He forcefully quieted his sobs as footsteps approached his door. He curled up even smaller, gripping his pillow so tight his knuckles ached. 

A knock. “Anakin, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he managed hoarsely. “I’m fine.”

“I can sense that you’re in pain, but you’re blocking me out.”

“...my stomach hurts.”

“How about I make you some ginger tea then?”

He couldn’t have Obi-Wan coming in and seeing him like this. He backtracked. “No, Master, it doesn't hurt that bad. Did you get the bacta?”

“Yes. Can I come in—?”

“No! Just— just leave it. Outside the door.”

He thought he was in the clear just when Obi-Wan’s voice came through the door again.

“Anakin, do you know where my saber is?”

“...didn’t you take it to the library with you?”

Obi-Wan sounded dubious. “...perhaps. I guess I’ll have to go looking for it.”

While he rubbed globs of the numbing gel over his torn rim he imagined Obi-Wan applying it for him. He knew Obi-Wan would never _want_ to do that for him. He would have said yes if Anakin had asked, ever so used to help him patch up his dumb mistakes, but he knew he’d be disgusted by him the entire time, chagrined by his Padawan’s stupidity. 

Still, Anakin fantasized about Obi-Wan becoming familiar with this part of him, healing his hurts and stretching him open, preparing him for his cock, his master’s cock, which he knew had to be just as beautiful as his master was. He wanted to see it, to feel it in his hands, in his mouth, in his hole.

That desire evolved into a lasting itch in the back of his mind.

* * *

For three years he borrowed Obi-Wan’s saber in secret.

There was never a moment where, if an opportunity presented itself, Anakin wasn’t jumping on the chance to take it inside himself again. He best achieved his release with that hilt buried deep within.

His appetite for it was insatiable. He felt aching and empty except for those addicting stolen moments when he could fill himself, long-practiced in how to open himself up well enough that he could slide the erratically-shaped durasteel in and out in a facsimile of lovemaking.

Obi-Wan patted his knee. “Come look at this.”

Anakin scooted over on the sofa to peer over his master’s shoulder at the datapad, leaning in close, stealing a whiff of his scent. Obi-Wan smelled faintly of his morning tea. The bone of his shoulder was digging into Anakin’s chest and his focus narrowed in on that point of contact. He knew Obi-Wan was saying something but his thoughts were elsewhere, drifting—

“Can I take a look at your saber?”

Obi-Wan turned a furrowed brow to him.

“I noticed it was sounding weird again. I think the power cell is still on the fritz.”

Obi-Wan handed his saber over wordlessly, getting up from the sofa at the same time. “You do that. I’m going to discuss this finding with Master Windu.”

Repair work was a common excuse. He knew his master wanted to encourage his interest in machinery and metalwork so he used that knowledge to his advantage.

Obi-Wan would raise an eyebrow at how many bacta wipes and jars of gel he went through on a regular basis, but he never confronted him about it.

He was lucky the excuse worked so well because sometimes he needed it so badly that he thought he was going to combust if he didn’t get it.

The need struck him hardest during training sessions.

Hours deep into sparring, they were both sweaty and short of breath.

“Can you handle one more round?” Obi-Wan said after another stalemate, cheeks flushed and damp strands of hair falling into his face.

Anakin used his tunic to wipe sweat from his own brow. “I’m not even tired, Master.”

His brain short-circuited when Obi-Wan started to strip down to his undershirt, peeling off the layers of clothes that always concealed his body so well.

His cock plumped up so fast it was making him woozy. 

Maybe he couldn’t handle another round.

By the time they’d left the training room for their apartment, the need to be filled was gnawing at him, deep in his core.

He stole Obi-Wan's saber from his discarded clothes while he was washing off the day’s training in the shower.

He licked fresh salt from the hilt while pushing down familiar guilt.

He didn’t know how best to recreate his master’s seed. A few times he tried squeezing bacta into his mouth, but the taste and texture wasn’t right. Worse, it was always cold. He couldn’t suspend his disbelief enough to believe it was coming from his master's body.

He was on his knees, head propped up on his arm. He liked this position for grinding his cock into the mattress, sometimes able to come like this without ever putting a hand on himself. 

Every time he did this, he had to be careful to not push in all the way, but he was always tempted. He wanted to take Obi-Wan as fully as his body allowed. 

Sometimes, he wished Obi-Wan wielded dual sabers. He’d tried substituting his own saber in, his saber in his mouth and Obi-Wan’s in his ass, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t— it wasn’t just about the durasteel hilt. It was the kyber, that phantom sensation of his master, that he craved so much.

Precome was leaking out of his slit and staining the sheets. With two fingers in his mouth, he was so close to the edge, he was almost there, if he just pressed the saber in a little further—

“Anakin!”

He whipped his head around so fast his neck cracked. “Master!”

Humiliation drenched him like a bucket of ice water. 

He scrambled to pull a blanket over himself while Obi-Wan stood in the doorway with his eyes averted, his face flushed a deep pink. 

“I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”

“Because I didn’t want you coming in!”

Obi-Wan sighed like he was bracing himself. “Anakin, I think we need to discuss this.”

That was definitely the last thing they needed to do.

He kept trying to arrange the blanket over himself in a useless bid to reclaim his dignity. “Please leave.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was terribly strained. “I’m— you can’t keep doing this. You’re putting yourself at risk of injury.”

Wait, did he—

Oh Force, he knew. 

He _knew._

He buried his face in the pillow. He wanted to cry, or maybe jump out the window. “Please just leave me alone.”

The sound of his door sliding closed only minutely slowed his rapid heartbeat.

His cock was completely soft, any and all arousal zapped from his body and leaving him to wallow in a puddle of shame.

* * *

Once he’d been knighted, once the war had begun, he didn’t get another opportunity to use Obi-Wan’s saber on himself. Once he had moved out of their shared apartment it became far more difficult to steal it away.

But the real reason he’d stopped was the mortification of knowing that his master— his former master, knew about his fixation. Had known about it the entire time. 

For two years he kept to his fingers. Early on, he’d purchased a plug in one of the seedier markets, but he only ended up using it once. He found he hated the smooth, tapered silicon; it felt soulless, mechanical in a way Obi-Wan’s saber was not. For all it was cold, rigid durasteel, it pulsed with a particular energy in the Force, and a plug could never replicate that.

He was ready to crawl out of his skin during their transport out of Kadavo. 

The entire Zygerrian operation had him rattled, in a way he only really started to process once they were on the Star Destroyer taking them back to Coruscant. Broken scenes flashed across his mind’s eye; being asked to whip his former master, being separated from him and Rex and Ahsoka, knowing they were enslaved, collared, tortured— it had him feeling more than a little on edge.

Obi-Wan was still bruised, his clothes torn and covered in soot, by the time they arrived back on Coruscant. 

Anakin was barely aware of his surroundings as they went through the process of finding beds for the Togrutan refugees. 

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked as soon as they were alone.

“I’m fine.”

“Anakin.” 

He fought to stay calm under the concerned eyes cataloguing his face, the mental probing at the shields around his mind. “How are you really feeling?”

They stepped off the elevator to their floor.

“I should be asking you that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan brushed him off with ease, “All superficial bruising. But I’m worried that you might need to see a mind healer. I know this brought up a lot of unpleasant emotions for you.”

“I said I’m fine.”

They’d reached Obi-Wan’s apartment. Obi-Wan stopped in front of his door. “Alright then. I won’t push you.”

Anakin found himself hesitating. He didn’t want to leave. The prospect of being alone right now set his teeth on edge.

He swallowed his pride and let the words he needed to say tumble out.

“I need your— your saber.”

He hated how quickly understanding flashed across Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan stared at him for a tense moment, lips a thin line under auburn bristles.

Sweat started trickling down the back of his neck.

“Anakin, I can’t let you do this anymore.”

His heart plummeted into his stomach and panic started to flood into the space it’d left. 

He couldn’t say no. Not now.

“Please. I… I know it’s stupid. Just please let me have it.”

Obi-Wan continued to hesitate, and all Anakin could do was think about why those bruises blemished his skin, why he looked so tired around the eyes.

His voice was nothing more than a rasp, raw and pleading. “Obi-Wan, please. I need it.”

After what felt like hours in limbo, Obi-Wan unlatched his saber from his belt and held it out to him without a word, his expression unreadable.

It wasn’t the same saber he’d used dozens of times; that saber had long been lost to the Battle of Geonosis. 

He quickly learned that his body wasn’t prepared to stretch for the wide, flat head of Obi-Wan's replacement saber. 

Still he tried. His eyes stung with pain and frustration as he forced the tip of the saber in, parched and delirious for just a drop of the comfort he used to get from this so many years ago.

He wanted to scream. Why wasn't it—

His door _whooshed_ open.

“Obi-Wan! What—”

He was painfully aware of how pathetic he looked, legs sprawled out, cock curved against his hipbone, his hand wrapped around the durasteel hilt buried between his thighs.

“Why would you come in here _now?"_ He felt close to hysterics. _"Get out.”_

“I’m not leaving.”

His brain shorted out trying to process the statement. He grew even more alarmed when Obi-Wan strode over to his bed. 

His cheeks flamed, his jaw clenched tight as Obi-Wan’s gaze drifted down his body.

Obi-Wan placed a hand on his knee, pushing it open slightly, and all of Anakin’s focus zeroed in on the touch, the warmth of a calloused palm sending a shiver up his spine. Fingers were gently extricating his hand from the hilt, which he realized belatedly he’d still been gripping onto tightly. 

Then Obi-Wan slowly, painstakingly slowly, removed the saber from him, eyes locked on him as he gently eased it out. Anakin kept as still as possible, biting down on his cheek against the friction of the durasteel ridges scraping along his walls.

He let out a long sigh of relief once the wide head of the saber was past his rim.

Obi-Wan pushed his knees open further, inspecting him. “There’s blood.”

Anakin made to close his legs. “It doesn’t hurt. The bacta helps.” He didn’t say _I’m used to it._

“I’m not giving this back,” Obi-Wan said, waving the saber. He— oh, he’d brought bacta wipes and a jar as well. Obi-Wan wiped the hilt down before setting it down next to the power cell on the nightstand.

“Obi-Wan, I’m sorry, I…” A whine broke out despite his best efforts. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I do understand,” he said calmly.

“Trust me, you don’t.”

A hand stroked down the skin of his inner thigh and his breath caught, heart pounding madly against his ribs. “I think I do. I can't let you do this to yourself anymore."

"But I—"

"Do you want my help, Anakin? Do you want me to touch you?”

_Fuck._

He choked out a sob. “Yes.”

The hand lightly squeezed his thigh and it felt like reassurance. 

“Hold your legs open for me— there, just like that. Good.” A finger traced around his rim, teasing him with just a whisper of a touch.

“Do you want me to touch you here?”

He whimpered, an impossibly deeper blush heating his cheeks. He couldn’t believe Obi-Wan was _touching him there._ “Yes.”

Obi-Wan joined him on the bed, finally, and Anakin opened his legs wide to accommodate him, horrified by how visibly they were trembling. Obi-Wan uncapped the jar and scooped out a generous amount before bringing those fingers back down to circle his rim, his other hand steady on his thigh.

Anakin's hips snapped up off the bed as soon as a finger sank in.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, no, it doesn’t hurt at all,” Anakin stammered, panicked that Obi-Wan might pull out. 

It really _didn’t_ hurt, his muscles relaxing around the gentle intrusion far more easily than the blunt head of a saber.

Obi-Wan loosened his tense walls slowly, methodically, seemingly in no rush while Anakin thought he was going to vibrate right out of his skin. He pumped one, two, then three fingers in, each time adding the next at a glacial pace, pushing in slow and deep, scissoring them with a finesse that Anakin could never manage on his own. 

The twitch at the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth had Anakin starting to suspect he wasn’t just going slow to be careful.

“You open for me so well.” 

He whined. Obi-Wan was plucking at the strings of his arousal as if he were an instrument he’d played all his life.

Anakin fisted the sheets so hard he worried his gold fingertips might tear holes.

Obi-Wan leaned down to bring their faces closer together, eyes so bright and clear that Anakin could almost ignore the bruising on his cheek and under his jaw, cleaned of dirt but still dark on his fair skin. 

Obi-Wan had added even more bacta, three fingers sliding in and out of him with the ease of a saber slicing through flimsi.

“Do you want my cock, Anakin? Is that what you’ve really been asking me for all this time?”

Hearing the word _cock_ fall from his former master’s lips nearly had him spilling right then and there. “Yes, Force, just— _please—”_

“Shh, shh,” Obi-Wan crooned, “I’m going to give you what you need. Just be patient for me.”

Fingers slipped from his body and he nearly cried at the gaping emptiness.

Force, he felt like he was gushing down there, his thighs slick from all the lubricant, the cool air meeting his wet skin and causing goosebumps to break out all over his naked body. 

Obi-Wan started to undress and Anakin watched wide-eyed, struggling to come to terms with the thick, beautiful cock before him.

“Have you had a cock inside you before?”

Anakin gave a wobbly shake of the head. “No. Only your— saber.”

Obi-Wan coated his cock in bacta, pumping himself in slow, almost lazy strokes, and Anakin was transfixed. "I can hardly believe you resorted to durasteel for so long."

Anakin fought back embarrassment in favor of letting Obi-Wan arrange a pillow under his hips.

Obi-Wan positioned himself over him, hands braced near his head, hard cock pressing against his entrance.

Anakin squirmed under his gaze.

“You’ll have to tell me immediately if it starts to hurt.”

“I will.”

His master’s cock wasn’t, technically, as big as his saber, and yet somehow it felt so much bigger, thicker, evenly filling him up as Obi-Wan slowly pressed into him, without all the piercing edges and deep hollows of the durasteel hilt. 

Anakin willed his body to relax, to receive everything that Obi-Wan was willing to give him.

“Oh— _ahh._ ” The last few inches stretched his rim so wide, pushed so deep into his walls that he felt like he might burst.

“Any pain?”

“No, no, it’s good. I’m good.”

Obi-Wan leaned down close and his cock pushed in impossibly deeper.

It punched out a moan from deep within his chest.

Are you ready for me to move?”

Anakin nodded furiously, his cock throbbing between the press of their bodies. Even without Obi-Wan moving an inch, he wasn’t sure he was going to last.

A hand brushed sweaty stray curls from his forehead. “I’ll go slow.”

“Yes, just— _please.”_

Obi-Wan rocked in and out of him in slow, languid strokes that were so _smooth,_ so unlike the hilt of a saber. He was awestruck by the lack of pain. 

He opened his mind up, wanting Obi-Wan to know exactly how much he was enjoying this. How much he'd needed this.

“I don’t want you stealing my saber away for personal use anymore. If you need it, you ask _me._ ”

Obi-Wan punctuated it with a hard thrust that sent Anakin throwing his head back and keening.

There was a hard edge to his voice that almost made him sound jealous. 

“Yes, Master.”

“Is this what you needed?”

“Yes,” he gasped, canting his hips up. “Harder, I need—”

“Shh. Let me decide what you need.”

Even as Obi-Wan said that his pace quickened, driving into him hard enough to catch his breath.

Anakin's legs flew up around Obi-Wan’s waist. He dug his heels in for purchase as he was pushed down into the mattress again and again.

It felt so _good._ Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, streaming down his temples into his hair. His toes curled painfully, legs cramping in this unfamiliar position. He was _so close._

He groped at Obi-Wan’s hand until Obi-Wan obliged him in his quest to take a finger into his mouth. Only one, enough to give him something to cradle with his tongue, something to suction his cheeks around. Obi-Wan’s fingers were slightly thicker than his own, lightly calloused in the same pattern he was used to. Before long there was another finger prodding at his lips and he eagerly made room for it.

His entire body throbbed, feeling strung out like an overtaxed bow. Obi-Wan's cock steadily driving into him, the fingers in his mouth, the weight of a warm body on top of him— it was all too much for his senses at once.

_“Mmph!”_

Obi-Wan withdrew his fingers to let him speak.

He panted for air. “Master, can I come, please, I’m going to—”

Obi-Wan didn’t have time to respond before Anakin couldn’t hold out any longer, his orgasm crashing into him at lightspeed. He sobbed through the relentless waves that rolled over him again and again. The unexpected intensity had him clenching down hard around Obi-Wan’s cock to ground himself in reality while his vision blacked out.

Anakin was barely coherent enough to register that Obi-Wan had stiffened like he’d been struck. Obi-Wan slammed in once more, his cock buried deep as he spilled his own release. He bent down to rest his head on Anakin’s shoulder, a soft moan getting muffled by his skin.

Anakin still felt dazed and shaky when Obi-Wan finally pulled out of him. He stayed still and pliant while Obi-Wan carefully wiped the drying streaks of come from his belly, blushing under the doting attention given to cleaning up the mess he’d made.

Discarding the wipe, Obi-Wan eased down onto the bed beside him and Anakin curled into his body in a lazy attempt to prevent him from leaving.

Obi-Wan’s chest was warm, hairs tickling his nose in a pleasant way as they both breathed into the volatile silence.

Still, there was an itching at the back of his mind, growing stronger the more he thought about Obi-Wan’s cock resting limp between his thighs.

“I can sense your restless mind.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hardly above a murmur. “Tell me what you want.”

“Can I…” He had half a mind to wave it away.

But he may never get this opportunity again. 

It all rushed out in one breath. “Can I hold you in my mouth?”

He tensed as Obi-Wan shifted, but relaxed once a thumb started to stroke over his cheek in a soothing way. “Let me properly clean up first, and then you can.”

Anakin waited impatiently for Obi-Wan to finish prepping his cock with the bacta wipe, his mind buzzing with anticipation. Once Obi-Wan was propped against the pillows and ready for him he hurried to nestle down into the space between Obi-Wan’s legs. The space meant for him.

He pressed his nose to skin and inhaled him, the scent of natural musk dizzying to his senses, something the saber’s hilt could never imitate.

He took Obi-Wan’s soft, spent cock into his mouth with all the care he could, mindful of his teeth. He wanted to do this right, wanting to be a warm safe haven for him. He was so mesmerized by the weight of it that he didn’t even mind the taste of bacta, although his saliva was already starting to break it down.

A hand at the back of his neck guided him down a little further, angling his head, coaxing him to rest his cheek on a pale thigh.

He wanted to savor this moment and etch it into his memory forever.

“Are you comfortable, darling?”

_Yes yes yes let me stay here forever—_

Anakin hummed his affirmation.

“Good. You can stay there as long as you need.”

Tears of relief pricked the backs of his eyes. Feelings of safety and comfort draped over him like a warm blanket, quieting his mind and making his eyelids feel heavy, lulling him into a state of contentment.

Satisfaction flooded in, knowing he was trusted like this, that he was _allowed_ to do this. 

Both the position of his head and the cock in his mouth had excess saliva building up over time. He did his best to swallow it down smoothly but as time went on he started drooling profusely, spit dribbling out the corners of his mouth at a steady pace as his mouth overflowed. 

As soon as a strong wave of embarrassment swept through him, he had fingers carding through his hair and a thumb gently wiping spit from his chin.

“You’re doing so well, Anakin. Exactly as you are.”

He screwed his eyes shut and whimpered against the words. 

Obi-Wan’s cock twitched in his mouth and he could’ve sworn it swelled, ever so slightly. 

An idea sparked.

The hand in his hair stilled. “Anakin, what are you doing?”

He hollowed his cheeks again, sucking lightly. He laved his tongue along the underside and felt it stiffen further in response, expanding in his mouth as blood returned. 

He suctioned around it harder and heard a sharp intake of breath above him.

Anakin pulled off and sat up just enough to look Obi-Wan in the eyes. “Let me do this. Please.”

He couldn’t believe that after all that, Obi-Wan was hesitating _now._

So he tried again. “Please. For me.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan finally said, his voice a soft rasp.

Anakin made it his mission to take Obi-Wan apart with his mouth. Nothing, not a single victory in this entire Force-forsaken war, had ever been more rewarding than the little stifled gasps above him as he bobbed his head on Obi-Wan's cock, straining to take him down to the hilt without gagging.

Until he discovered that his gagging wrung out even louder gasps. That was more than enough encouragement to take him deeper. 

Despite the ache in his jaw and the stirrings of his own cock, he felt like he could do this for hours, his eyes closed in bliss, nothing to pay attention to beyond the cock stretching his mouth wide. 

A hand tightening in his hair and a throbbing pulse against his tongue were his only warning that Obi-Wan was about to come. He swallowed down what felt like copious amounts of seed as it hit the back of his throat, hot and fast in a way bacta gel could never replicate. He felt his master’s pleasure reverberate in the Force and it made his blood sing with the knowledge that he had caused that with his mouth.

Obi-Wan gathered him up into his arms and Anakin went willingly, feeling limp and sated. As much as he wanted Obi-Wan’s cock in his mouth again, his jaw was aching and sore, his throat burning. Obi-Wan wiped off the mix of spit and come from his chin before shifting them down on the bed.

He was fading fast into sleep when Obi-Wan’s chest rumbled under his cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t... understand, earlier. What you needed.”

He flexed his cybernetic hand where it rested around Obi-Wan’s waist. “...and also what you needed?”

Something warm and fond caressed the edges of his mind. “Yes. What we both needed.”


End file.
